


Murder Death Party: A Dragula Story

by Mistressaq



Series: Murder Death Party [1]
Category: The Boulet Brothers' Dragula RPF
Genre: Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Roleplay, it's called murder death party, you get the jist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 17:40:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14815866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistressaq/pseuds/Mistressaq
Summary: Before a concert, in the middle of nowhere, bodies hit the floor long before the show begins.





	Murder Death Party: A Dragula Story

**Author's Note:**

> For your convenience, I added a list of the s2 girls and who they play in the end notes.  
> First I want to tell you that although we start out slow with this first chapter, things will get fairly intense fairly quickly after that. So:  
>  **This story will include character death, a gun, light gore, descriptions of dead bodies, blood orgies, satanic rituals, threatened suicide, and spoilers for both existing seasons of Dragula**.  
>  If you can’t tolerate those kinds of things, why the fuck did you watch the show?

Biqtch takes in a deep breath as he takes a step toward the rectangular metal structure. His low-heeled men’s cowboy boots crunch gravel and weeds underfoot with every movement. The large empty plastic bins he holds in his left hand fight against him, pulling away with the slight breeze. Biqtch feels like someone’s him. As a way of biting back nerves, he runs through his character sheet in his head for the thirtieth time.

 _I am Tex, Tex Turing. Animation director at a mid-level video game company_ . _Tex wants to fund a passion project, and that’s why he came to this concert. To crowdfund_.

Biqtch would have told Tex to just start up a GoFundMe, but the Setting page of the packet they had all received detailed that they were supposed to be in the 1980s. Biqtch had briefly considered trying to employ the word ‘groovy’ when she talked to other players, but when she asked, Swanthullah had gotten That Look on her face, the one that said ‘I’ll let you make your own mistakes but that is a bad idea’. The word ‘Groovy’ slips back into Biqtch’s mental trash can.

Looking up now as the warehouse looms ever closer, Biqtch wonders what it was supposed to store in the first place. The papers had said it was long out of use, but the supermonster couldn’t help imagining shelves upon shelves of Teddy Ruxpins, Sky Dancers, and other childhood toys she hadn’t been allowed.

Gripping the metal door handle in a firm hand and throwing it open with the use of gym-grown forearm muscles, she sees that, as expected, none of her imaginings are true. The oversized box of a metal barn smells musty, and damp, despite the desert outside. Sad lighting fixtures flicker from above, washing out the inside with an aura of unease. The cracked cement floor is strewn with debris, both organic and not. Piles of animal crap collect against walls and in corners. Shredding mattresses recline against the ribbed steel walls, accompanied by piles of ash and tattered clothes. If there was ever a fitting place to house true punk spirit, Biqtch thinks this is it.

Other than the remnants of previous uninvited tenants, the warehouse is mostly bare. Piled against the far wall are sheets of metal and dismembered poles that Biqtch realizes used to be shelves. There doesn’t look to be much of the metal left, as what she can see, Biqtch thinks could only make up two or three shelving units. Most of it must have been looted for scrap metal, the venture abandoned upon figuring out that the labor wasn’t worth the money.

However, out of all the pieces in the warehouse, there is one structure in tact, likely because it stands on wheels in its’ own lighting, in the center of the usable space. A mobile bar, a six-seater, hooked up to a hose leading outside. Standing at the bar is James. Or as Biqtch is supposed to refer to him tonight, Al. As in Albert “Al” C Hall. Al C Hall, get it?

James is dressed in boy drag, local business owner realness. His bald head is shiny, moisturized. He wears a button-down, fashionable dress pants, a long purple tie with a tie-clip for sanitary reasons, and against the cement floor Biqtch can hear the squeak of dress shoes.

Biqtch plops down her donation bins near the bar. The empty plastic reverberates sadly, the sound echoing in the empty space. “Fancy,” he says, continuing to size up James’ wardrobe. His belt had a pattern etched in that Biqtch tries to recognize. “That a common outfit for a vendor at a punk concert?”

“Wouldn’t know. Never done it before.” James’ characteristic voice remains under the veneer of masculinity.  Still, his tenor fits well into a customer service persona. “Can I get you anything, sir?”

Biqtch rakes his fingers through his hair. It is longer than most men would keep it, but Tex Turing wouldn’t fit into the traditional leading-man-in-an-army-movie haircut, being both a computer geek _and_ an art nerd. It was also useful that Biqtch wouldn’t have to get a haircut before coming, which he didn’t have time for anyway. “Not for now, thanks,” he says. “I’ll wait for, ah, networking purposes.” _‘Networking’_ , thinks Biqtch. _Ugh, who am I_?

“Sure thing,” says James, reaching under the bar. A second passes and the barman tries to turn on the tap he’d set up with the hose. There is a spraying noise and James mutters “Shit!” before drying his hand on a washcloth and reappearing above the bar as if nothing had happened. “So tell me, ah, what was your name again?”

“Tex.”

“Right.” James chuckles and briefly breaks character. “Think I would have remembered from the forms, but guess not. Anyway, Name’s Al.”

Biqtch smiles with only his mouth. “Nice to meet you Al.”

“Great,” says James, blushing slightly in embarrassment. “So tell me, Tex, what are those bins for?”

Biqtch’s mouth is open, about to head into the shpiel that Tex would have prepared for this exact purpose, but before he could get a word out, the metal door swung open, flooding about ten feet of sunlight into the otherwise empty warehouse. In walks Abhora, tumbleweed hair and tartan-clad, looking like Dorothy Gale after electric shock therapy. Biqtch remembers from the write up that Abhora’s character is Chick something, supposed to be a local widow, and damn if she didn’t look like she’d fit right in with the small-town desert landscape. All her colors blend in with the sepia surroundings: wheat-colored skin, dry, dusty brown hair, off-white, peter pan neckline prairie dress, complete with tan brown apron and modest work boots. Only her piercing blue eyes single her out from her environment.

Abhora claps dust off of her hands as she wide-steps her way over to James’ bar. “Kink in the hose had the water pressure sketchy,” she says in an affected hick accent. “Go on and try her now.”

Without another word, James reaches down and twists the faucet. Biqtch hears a squeak, then a flow of water filling a plastic cup. He sets the filled water on the table and turns back to Abhora. “Nice work, Chick.”

Abhora gives a tight-lipped smile and does a half-curtsey before taking a seat at the bar, as far away from Biqtch as could be.

If James noticed, he didn’t say anything, turning his attention to setting up his bar. Doing what exactly, Biqtch can’t imagine, but at least half of it seems faked by James to keep himself moving: opening and shutting the same drawers, investigating the cash register, counting off names of real liquor bottles. “So, dear Chick,” he says. “Have you met Tex here? He was just telling me about a fund-raiser he’s got going.”

Abhora stares at the bar, tracing an old stain with her fingertips. “Oh really,” she says noncommittally.

It has been over a year since the filming of their season of Dragula, and things between Biqtch and Abhora have mostly cooled to the soft pleasantries of acquaintances, still separated by negative feelings harbored by one party for the other. Even though those feelings have been addressed and the relationship mended, an awkwardness persists. The Boulets must have drawn on this when assigning roles, because Biqtch and Abhora got the roles of two people who had beef and hadn’t spoke to each other in years.

As the character of Chick is the one who holds something against Tex after all this time, Biqtch leaves it to Abhora to decide how they are going to play this. Do they pretend they have never met? Or do they allow the awkward to roll over them both?

“Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?” Biqtch prods at Abhora with his mind.

“Perhaps.” Abhora flicks her head over her shoulder, facing Biqtch, but still refusing to look at him. “Known a lot of people in my days.”

Biqtch smiles. He can see how much fun Abhora is having already. It’s only fitting he has some fun too. “I bet you have,” he hums, examining one of the far corners. Now it’s Abhora who gives an unreturned look -- he can feel her glare stinging his cheek.

James clears his throat, trying to cut the tension in the air, and cutting Abhora off from saying something she might regret.

It’s at this point that the metal door swings open again, this time the entering number matches that of those already inside. Three people walk in, burdened by heavy sound equipment and cables. All exhibit as typically female. In front is a woman wearing dark purple lipstick, heart shaped reflective sunglasses hanging low on her nose. Long dark hair falls limply over her shoulders and back as she carries an amplifier. Something about her is so familiar, but Biqtch can’t place it yet. Behind her is a thinner girl, electric orange rayon wig taking up enough space for the girl’s torso to fit into. As she approaches, Biqtch and others can see that she has drawn a triangular nose and catlike facial muscles onto her face. This one, thinks Biqtch, must be the band member whose name in the writeup was simply ‘Lion’. Lion holds extension cords on her arms like exaggerated jewelry, and she follows the amp-holder’s every movement.

Last came a girl in what could only be described as a Lisa Frank Neon Nightmare. It’s Erika, obviously, carrying a switchboard, her signature overdrawn anime eyes and exaggerated freckles the identifying factor. Erika wears every single color of the rainbow and many extra colors as well. Her hair is bright pink. Her lips are teal, and also overdrawn. Her cheeks carry stuck-on gems: a rainbow, a shooting star, and something that could have been a peace sign but Biqtch can’t tell. Her clothes are bubble-like, and made out of velour material. Though the primary color in the outfit is definitely hot pink, Erika has utilized iron-ons and patches as accents to make herself even more of an eyesore. Looking down, Biqtch sees Erika still makes up for her stature with platform heels. Covered in white sequins, functioning as wearable disco balls and casting prismic refractions on the cement, Biqtch thinks that the shoes may be the most subtle part of Erika’s outfit.

Biqtch swivels off his chair and onto his feet. He holds out his arms to show their availability. “What can I help with?”

The first girl, the familiar one with the natural hair, set down the amp about twenty feet away from the bar. “I think we’ll set up here,” she says. She wears a grey, fashionably stressed off-shoulder top and high waisted corduroy pants. The more Biqtch looks at her, the more frustrated he gets with himself for his inability to place her.

The one with the orange hair and cat face carefully sets the soundboard down on the ground. Biqtch asks her directly if he can help -- this one he can place, it’s Felony -- but she shakes her head and says she has it covered.

Finally he turns to Erika, who is quickly losing track of all of her wires, trailing extension cord behind her while the rest of the rubber snake unwinds itself from her drooping arms. Biqtch makes his way over to steady Erika, literally picking up her slack.

“God, thanks,” she breathes.

While Biqtch helps Erika untangle and organize, he is aware of one of the girls behind him asking James where any power outlets are. He hears James say “sorry… had to link up to the power box outside for my bar to work, what with the lighting.”

“Shit fuck.” The reply comes from a voice that is more gravelly than any cast member Biqtch can think of. He wracks his brain. Too nasal to be Vander, who else could be in their game? And who would say ‘shit fuck’???

Meanwhile, Erika has been chattering away, mostly about how hopeless she is at anything other than… what did Biqtch just hear?

His face must show his confusion. Erika smiles under the makeup. “Oh yeah, I’m not actually _in_ the band, in case you were confused.”

Biqtch works a kink out of one of the cables. “If you’re not in the band, then why are you carrying cables -- you don’t exactly look like a tech person.”

Erika grabs one end of a cable and walks them both over to the amp. “Nope!” she says. “Not a techie, just the most dedicated groupie in the biz.”

“Wow.”

“Though I’m pretty sure my days of actually sleeping with the musicians are over,” she clarifies. “Hellevator is getting pretty mainstream now. More exposure means more fans, and Hellevator fans are the best, just in general. But they’re also the best in bed.”

Biqtch feels the amused smile on his lips and he can’t help it. “Is that so?”

Erika thrusts out her hand. _Gloved_ , notices Biqtch. _Of course. Nails impede trade_.

“I go by Rani, by the way,” says Erika. “Rani Bow.” Erika looks all too pleased with herself.

Biqtch takes her hand, and, instead of shaking it, he turns it on its side, pulling the back of her hand to his lips. “Tex Turing, m’lady.” _Oh God Tex is so cringy why am I having so much fun already we’re just in introductions???_

Rani/Erika makes shallow gasping sounds in reaction to Tex’ advances. “Well!” she chuckles. “Maybe I won’t actually need the backup trade I called in for tonight.”

“We’ll see,” says Biqtch.

After a moment passes of the two simply drinking each other in, Biqtch shifts his attention to the bar, where the two real band members have taken up talking to James while Abhora observes stone-faced. “Why don’t you tell me about your friends?” says Biqtch.

Erika rests a hand on her hip. “There’s Lion, the one in the orange wig. She’s the drummer. She’s the youngest. Uhhhh… yeah. And then on keys is Adore.”

“A _DORE_?!” Biqtch echoes, sudden realization hitting him hard enough to send his voice echoing around the warehouse.

The person who previously had sent his brain through a loop jolts at the sound of her own name. “What?”

“Nothing,” snaps Biqtch, slightly mortified. He claps his hands over his mouth, grateful he is playing a character that doesn’t wear makeup for once. “Forget I said anything.”

Adore blinks slowly and shrugs. “Okay,” she says, moving her mouth as little as possible. She turns back around.

Biqtch looks back at Erika, fear in his eyes. The eyesore of a queen bends over and grabs her knees, desperately trying to hide her laughter. “Starstruck much?”

“Shut up,” Biqtch pouts. After clearing his throat, he tries to pull back into Tex. “So. What kind of band only has two members?”

“Oh, there’s four,” Erika clarifies. “Doll and Indie aren’t here yet. They have a pre-show ‘ritual’,” Rani does air quotes and gives Biqtch the side-eye. “It’s sex. They have sex before every performance.”

“Oh,” says Tex, leaning his head back. “I would think that would be draining before a show.”

Erika quirks her lips to the side and shrugs. “Not draining when you get drugs involved. That’s what they say, anyway.”

“Ah, of course.”

“Anyway,” says Erika. “Usually me, Lion and Adore are the only ones to show up for full rehearsals. Indie comes about halfway through? After halfway through, if I’m honest. But Dollface, the band leader, she shows up when she damn well pleases, which is mostly ten minutes to showtime, or ten after.”

“And how’s _she_ in bed?” asks Biqtch, jokingly.

“Dominating,” says Erika without a second thought. To Biqtch’s surprised face, she explains, “Dollface _fucks_. It’s like… capitalism. Like she wants your session over with as soon as possible so she can get onto the next.”

Biqtch forces his jaw shut to keep it from hanging open. “Huh.” He can’t help but wonder if Erika’s quick response is part of preparation or genuine experience.

Erika grins. “Do you wanna know about Adore?”

Biqtch chokes on her own spit, ending up in a dramatic coughing fit that derais the conversation over at the bar.

“Does that one have consumption or something?” asks Adore.

“I’m f -- I’m fi --” Biqtch tries to get control of his coughing, but he hasn’t cleared his airway yet, and the fit goes on. He waves his hand, signaling that he will be okay, and the eyes turn away from him. Mercifully, the coughs subside after this, and he turns back to Erika.

“Too bad you caught your breath,” says Erika with a shrug. “I would have liked to give you mouth-to-mouth.”

Biqtch can’t help but let out a cough/chuckle. He breaks character briefly out of tension. “You’re really having fun with this, aren’t you?”

Erika barely has to break character, tilting her head to one side and holding out a hand. “Duh. I get to pretend to be _even more_ of a whore than I actually am.” She flips her hot pink hair. “Are you having fun?”

“Yeah,” says Biqtch. “I’m projecting a lot of feelings of toxic masculinity onto this character.”

Erika’s brows lift.

Biqtch can tell that Erika is slipping back into Rani by the way she turns to look at the lineup of people at the bar. She grabs a cluster of pink hair and twirls it around her finger. “Tell me,” she says, something sultry edging into her voice. “What do you know about Tartan Tina?”

Biqtch looks, and Rani is pointing at Abhora. He can’t help but laugh in the back of his throat at how applicable Erika’s wordplay is. “Ah,” he starts. His and Abhora’s characters have a backstory, and Biqtch wonders how much of that he should disclose now, or maybe save until later. Ultimately, he decides to share what Rani might care about, as someone who has her eye on Chick. “Probably barking up the wrong tree with that one,” he says.

He sees Erika’s brows knit together in determination, her lips quirk, scheming.

“She was married a while ago,” says Biqtch. “To a man. Widow.” He lowers his voice. “Those of us close enough to notice, we think it might not have been as accidental as her story claims.”

Interest piques Erika’s bright pink brows. “Oooh, gimme the Tea, uh… girl.”

Biqtch smiles in good humor. “Tex,” he reminds her.

“Gimme the tea, Tex!” chirps Erika.

Biqtch studies the figures back at the bar. By this point, Biqtch and Erika have started roaming the empty, barely-lit half of the warehouse. Erika kicks a pebble off to one side and Biqtch kicks it back while he speaks. “Well you can tell her whatever you want, it won’t make her like me any less. She already hates my guts, and I never can tell exactly why. I bailed her husband out of jail once, you’d think her opinion of me would have… gotten a little better.”

“What was he in for?” asks Erika.

“Smuggling,” says Biqtch. “I knew it had to be. They got too rich too fast and had nothing on their property when the cops raided.” He looks away. “I choose to believe it was, you know, diamonds, precious artifacts and shit. Somehow I can’t bring myself to imagine her involved in… you know.”

“Awwwe,” cooes Rani. “Did you have a thing for her?”

“No,” Biqtch snaps.

“Quick on the draw there?” Erika smirks.

“Shut up.”

There’s a commotion back at the bar; Biqtch and Erika swivel around to get a better look. Their feet remain nailed to the cracking cement twenty feet away, but they have no trouble hearing the exaggerated conversation.

“Honestly I don’t know why I even try with you.” It’s Adore speaking. She is on her feet now, one hand on her hip and one gripping hair at the top of her head.

Felony leans over, grabs onto the stool Adore had been sitting on before. “Dore, I didn’t mean--”

“Shit like this doesn’t stay _quiet_ , Lion!” Her hands are spread out, her fingers loosely clenched into talons. “Especially not if you go around telling anyone who BATS AN EYELASH AT YOU!”

Felony’s lip quivers. Her begging is too soft for the pair to hear. Tex turns to Rani. “Do you know what all that’s about?”

“Yeah…” Erika says, deflating. “I’m pretty sure it’s about me.”

In the background, Felony leans and pleads. Adore turns away while Erika narrates: “Lion told me a little earlier that she and Adore are planning on leaving the band. Tonight’s supposed to be their last performance with Hellevator.”

Biqtch’s brows knit together. “Okay, so why does Adore want to be all secretive about it?”

Erika offers a shallow laugh. “Hellevator is not made up of adults,” she says smugly. “It is a band made up of promiscuous children. That’s why Adore wants out, and she likes Lion so she wanted to bring her along. But now I’ll bet you Adore is freaking because she thinks now that I know I’ll go run and tell the others. And that if their bandmates catch up to them…”

Biqtch shakes his head. “What? They’ll stomp on Adore with biker boots? What are they gonna do, Eri -- ahem -- Rani?”

Erika bites her lip. “Let’s just say there are certain… changes, happening to members of Hellevator. Not necessarily good ones. And it’s enough to scare others into wanting to leave.”

“Fucking STOP, okay?!” Adore throws Felony off of her arms, sending her to the cold hard floor. Now the rock star Adore is storming off toward the metal door. “Don’t follow me,” she says in a voice that threatens to pull the steel structure down around them all.

The door falls shut with a metallic vibration that freezes everyone where they are. James is behind the bar, purposefully avoiding Felony’s dramatically shaking form. Abhora side-eyes the punk, leans over her fist to whisper an ill-taste joke to James, who hides a chuckle behind a cough.

Biqtch feels a pat on his arm and Erika is walking off to Felony’s side. Left alone in the dark, he feels all the empty space of the warehouse more heavily than he had when he first arrived. The bar is so far away, backlit by warm yellow bulbs. Besides Abhora, everyone else stands out, vibrant, practically glowing. Erika’s bright pink outfit and reflective shoes, Felony’s vibrant orange wig, James’ starched shirt and shiny head. This far away, Biqtch can detect a shadow of peach fuzz on the barman’s domed head.

Although Erika glances his way a few times and motions for Biqtch to join, he isn’t ready yet. There’s so much drama, and for him to join now, he’d have to get fucked up, and the only stool left, is the one right next to Abhora.

After some time of observing the players paired off in private conversation, Biqtch grows bored of being alone. He opts for leaning on the bar next to Erika. James has poured something golden in a short glass for Felony. Biqtch drifts off into a daydream staring into the glass and contemplates getting drunk himself.

“Tex,” says James from behind the bar.

Biqtch pulls his head up.

“Why don’t you tell us about that passion project you’re crowdfunding for?”

____________

Just outside, a hundred or so paces away, Adore stands alone in the evening sun. It’s somewhat pretty out here. There’s nothing to look at besides nature, and even nature seems sad. The grass is yellow. The bushes are bare. The trees, mesquite, have paper-thin leaves the size of rice. Tumbleweeds stack against a cow fence, itching to break free.

A barely-there breeze stirs Adore’s long brown hair. She checks her phone. No signal out here, not even 1x. When she signed up for this, she imagined the break from technology would be soul-cleansing, like Katya had said. Now she tosses the expensive rectangle between her hands like a hackey-sack and wonders what to do.

Unbeknownst to Adore, she is being watched. They all are.

The Watcher moves soundlessly on the gravel; they make not a crunch underfoot.

For a while, they stands behind Adore, watching the breeze blow her hair. Waiting for her to feel their eyes. Prologing suspense.

By the time the brunette takes notice of the feeling of being watched, The Watcher has pounced. Adore fights, but is suppressed. Her choked moans are carried away by the breeze.

The Watcher disappears, and Adore Delano lies motionless on the warm desert soil.

**Author's Note:**

> Cast list:  
> Biqtch -- Tex, the developer; James -- Al, the barman; Abhora -- Chick, the widow; Erika -- Rani, the groupie; Felony -- Lion, the drummer; Kendra -- Sid, the wild card; Victoria -- Indie, the Romantic; and Dahli -- Dollface, the mastermind.


End file.
